


Inappropriately Wrong

by chase_acow



Series: The Love Ballad of McKay and Mitchell [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-07
Updated: 2007-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/pseuds/chase_acow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Three semi-intelligent Air Force Lieutenant Colonels in the room, and he got stuck with the one who had most recently tried to kill him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inappropriately Wrong

_**Fic: Inappropriately Wrong McKay/Mitchell NC-17**_  
Title: Inappropriately Wrong  
Author: Renae [](http://chase-acow.livejournal.com/profile)[**chase_acow**](http://chase-acow.livejournal.com/)  
Fandom: SG-1/SGA crossover  
Pairing: McKay/Mitchell  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: _Three semi-intelligent Air Force Lieutenant Colonels in the room, and he got stuck with the one who had most recently tried to kill him._  
A/N: Takes place immediately after the _Pegasus Project_.  
Beta by [](http://vipersweb.livejournal.com/profile)[**vipersweb**](http://vipersweb.livejournal.com/) who made this so much better than it was. Thank you so, _so_ much!

  


_The third time Rodney had sex with Mitchell, he finally got the idea that there might be more to it than just some stress relief._

“Oh, _yeah_.”

“Would you please stop talking so I can concentrate and pretend you’re someone else?” Rodney asked thrusting his hips harder against Mitchell’s ass to drive home his point. The couch was tall enough, but Rodney had to stretch at an odd angle so he could get as deep as he wanted without crushing Mitchell’s dick against the hard backrest. He’d be sore tomorrow, but he got the feeling that it would be worth it.

Mitchell groaned, a low rumble of a purr that McKay could feel through Mitchell’s lower back. Sweat stood out sliding down tendons as his arms flexed trying to hold himself stable up and off the cushions, “Keep talking dirty to me McKay, and I probably won’t last long.”

A wry grin twisted his lips, but since Mitchell couldn’t see him anyway, Rodney didn’t care. He lifted his hands to wipe his palms against his shirt, and reached back down to get a better grip on Mitchell’s nonexistent love-handles, “You’re completely mental. You know that?”

“Mmm, sure,” Mitchell grunted, sounds coming from his mouth that were more pornographic than some of the nude photographs Rodney had kept secreted away through his teenage years. “Whatever you say.”

He should have had Mitchell strip completely before bending him over couch. The muscles on Mitchell’s back shifted constantly, pulling the thin sweat-soaked material of his t-shirt tight across broad shoulders only to release it a moment later and begin again. Their pants tangled at their knees keeping both men from spreading their legs more than shoulder length apart.

Mitchell was tight, so tight. He’d only let Rodney work in two fingers before demanding that Rodney fuck him and right the fuck now, _thank you very much_. Tight, and hot, and slick from the lube; if Rodney believed in heaven he’d swear that this was it. Though this was probably something that the ascended Ancients frowned upon, and that was as close as he’d ever get to an afterlife, if that. Their loss.

Their thighs bumped together in a tempo set by Rodney, hard and fast, rough against the wiry hair that dusted across the skin of both men. He was close, so very close, a few more thrusts, the memory of Mitchell down on his knees superimposed over the man’s willingly bared back, and Rodney was gone. His knees locked as he tried to shove tighter into Mitchell’s body, a soft gasp escaping as he came.

Rodney couldn’t help curling over Mitchell’s back, basking in the heat they had created between the two of them. Everything felt good, even his back which had been bothering him all day faded in the afterglow. Of course, Mitchell had no sense of decency, beginning to squirm after only a bare moment.

“Off, c’mon, Rodney,” Mitchell whined, still turned on and looking for some release. He wiggled, off-balanced by his awkward position and the pressure of Rodney’s weight bearing down on him. “Get off me.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Rodney muttered, shifting slightly to the side and pulling them both up just enough so that he could slip a hand down Mitchell’s belly to grasp the still waiting cock without bruising the hell out of his knuckles.

Mitchell shuddered, his feet jerking as his hips pumped against Rodney’s hand. “Oh god,” he gasped burying his face behind his upper arms.

“Yeah, you can call me that,” Rodney agreed, speeding up his strokes until he felt Mitchell’s whole body spasm and warm liquid shoot over his hand. He sighed into Mitchell’s t-shirt and then pushed himself up, using Mitchell’s back as convenient leverage and hand towel all in one.

Probably no one would be able to tell on Mitchell’s workout shirt where the sweat stain ended and the come stain began. But fair was fair, it was Mitchell’s turn to walk around Atlantis smelling like sex.

“I didn’t think you’d -” Mitchell began, his voice soft, muffled by a cushion. Then he straightened, hitching up his track pants and leaning back against the couch. There was a glint in his eye as he reached up to sooth his fingers through his hair. “So, was it good for you?”

Legs straight up in the air was a good look on Mitchell; as good as his laughter sounded when Rodney shoved him backwards over the couch. But Mitchell didn’t need to know that.

**

_Here’s how it started._

  
“Sam wants to know if you’re okay,” Mitchell’s voice grated on Rodney’s last nerve, cutting through the soft murmuring of a gathering winding down. “You haven’t tried to have her babies once since the party started.”

Rodney fought the urge to cover his face with his hands as Mitchell sidled up to the table that Rodney and Radek had taken over for a game of chess. Radek, the traitor, smirked, knocked his own queen over, and nodded to them both wandering away. To plot his death would take the rest of the night if Rodney wanted to make certain that it was the most painful and embarrassing end that the Czech deserved.

“How funny,” Rodney drawled, though to his ears it wasn’t half as good as Sheppard or Mitchell’s own country boy twangs. He glared at Sam and Sheppard, cowering in a nearby corner trying to look as if they weren’t stretching their ears to catch every word. They were giggling, gossiping little schoolgirls. Worse, _drunk_ giggling little schoolgirls. “Did it take the three of you all night to come up with that? Congratulations.”

The party had been impromptu and invitation only with the admission price of food or drink to share at a common table. Rodney had heard from Cadman who heard from Lorne and on and on. He grabbed a bag of pretzels and followed her to a little used room away from the inhabited area of the city. In their second year on Atlantis, they’d found out that these blow-off gatherings aided both stress and boredom. Rodney personally liked the wide selection of snack food.

“Ease up, McKay,” Mitchell slurred, his body listing as he tried to pat Rodney on the shoulder and missed by a mile. “I just came over to apologize.”

Of course his stress levels rocketed when he saw that SG-1 was already there and settled in as if they owned the place. They were eating _his_ food, drinking _his_ booze, talking to _his_ friends. Between Mitchell’s assault on his life, and Carter’s reminder that he’d never be good enough, he’d had all he could take. It was only Cadman’s overly masculine shove that got him in the room. Then again, who was he to resist the allure of the Twinkie?

Rodney snorted and rolled his eyes as he began to clear off the abandoned chess board, to stow in its convenient carry case, “You have a very special method of conveying your sentiments, Colonel.”

His cunning plan of avoiding Mitchell’s assassination attempts and repressing his image of Sam had been working so well too. He just needed to make it until they were gone again, out of sight, out of mind and then Sam could go back to her pedestal and everything would be right in his world. Rodney sighed, the clearest sign yet that the universe was out to get him was staring him in the face. Three semi-intelligent Air Force Lieutenant Colonels in the room, and he got stuck with the one who had most recently tried to kill him.

Mitchell smiled, slow molasses that crinkled the corner of his eyes, and seeped into the space between them, “No really, I’m very, very, _very_ sorry. I acted ina- inaprop- ina- . . . I was wrong.”

“Fine,” Rodney sighed, trying to inch his way back into some personal space, beyond ready to call it a night. Was that a headache tugging on the back of his neck or just muscle strain? He should have known that just breathing in the same air as SG-1 would have an adverse effect on him. “Can you go be wrong somewhere else?”

“No, I want to make it up to you.”

“For the love of -” Rodney was going to kill whoever introduced Mitchell to the Athosian’s homebrew. Kill, and then find an Ancient machine to resurrect them so that he could kill them again. And maybe again.

Mitchell blinked at him slowly, his fingers curling around the material of Rodney’s jacket that he’d caught without Rodney noticing.

**

_The second time they had sex, Rodney made a rather large miscalculation._

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Rodney sighed but didn’t look up from the calculations he was jotting down is his own particular short hand. The last time he left legible notes lying around, some idiot who shouldn’t have gotten past grad school, picked them up and nearly destroyed the lab trying to impress him.

“Do you shoo Colonel Carter to bed too?” Rodney asked, distractedly as he finished up, but only because he’d been about to anyway. “You probably don’t have to; she needs her beauty sleep after all.”

“Well, a little beauty sleep couldn’t hurt you any,” Mitchell said with a perfectly straight face from where he was hovering in the doorway. He held it for a moment before an awkward smile took form, fitting his face poorly.

A baleful glare was the only response Rodney could come up with. So, _maybe_ he was a bit tired. He’d assigned Zelenka to baby-sit Carter and spent his time in a lab far away from fly-boys or anything of interest to red-blooded, gun-toting, _straight_ American males.

It would have taken Sheppard over a day to track Rodney down, and he would have gotten lost twice while he was at it. Calling him ‘directionally challenged’ was a little too polite for Rodney. He thought it was just a good thing that they had Teyla with them on missions. Mitchell must have had inside help. Rodney mentally queued through a list of potential suspects.

Mitchell’s touch on his shoulder made him jump, breaking into his thoughts of revenge. “You know what your problem is McKay?” Mitchell asked, catching Rodney’s eyes and spreading his fingers to cover Rodney’s shoulder blade.

“Annoying Lieutenant Colonels who don’t know when to quit?”

“You’re way too stressed,” Mitchell continued as if Rodney hadn’t spoken at all. It was a quirk the members of SG-1 all shared that Rodney hated and intended to squash at the first available opportunity.

Now was obviously not the moment though, as Mitchell used his hold on Rodney to turn the swivel chair around and dropped to his knees between Rodney’s spread legs. He looked up at Rodney grinning like a kid who got his first beebee gun for Christmas. His talented hands brushed up the inside of Rodney’s thighs, and reached up to push his uniform jacket out of the way.

Okay, maybe not so straight after all. Rodney sucked in a breath, his cock beginning to harden with only that slight touch. His fingers curled in a spasm, hands holding the arms of his chair in a death grip. “Is that what this is? Stress relief?”

“You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure it out,” Mitchell peeked up, hiding behind his eyelashes, his hands stilling to frame Rodney’s crotch between his spread fingers. He waited, holding Rodney’s gaze, so still that he might have been holding his breath.

“What are you waiting for then?” Rodney dared, holding his breath after the words escaped from his mouth. That hadn’t been what he was going to say, he was nearly sure of it.

Mitchell smiled and there was wattage behind his teeth, “Nothing at all.” He shifted forward, his shoulders pushing Rodney’s legs further apart as he leaned up to undo the fastenings of Rodney’s pants.

His arms were warm where they rested on the top of Rodney’s thighs, his back bowed into a parabola, head bent to his task. The moment that his mouth touched Rodney’s cock, the lights in the lab flashed before settling back down. Embarrassed, Rodney tipped his head back, closing his eyes and pushing aside the thought of _who_ was giving him a blowjob to concentrate on the sensations.

It felt good to be touched by someone else like this. It had been awhile since he had anyone, even his cat, to curl up with. And it was absolutely nothing like riding a bike, he felt overwhelmed, sweeping over the falls before he had a chance to grab onto anything. Almost embarrassingly fast he could feel the tension building up toward release. He jerked his head down, grunting and flicking a hand out to slap the side of Mitchell’s head.

Mitchell looked up and rolled his eyes, pulling back until just the tip of Rodney’s cock was in his mouth and used his hand to continue jerking the shaft until Rodney couldn’t hold back anymore. Mitchell swallowed all of it, and Rodney couldn’t look away from the mouth wrapped around his cock.

Sitting back on his heels, Mitchell reached up with a thumb and swabbed at one corner of his mouth. He sucked his thumb into his mouth and splayed his other hand over the bulge lifting from between his legs.

Rodney was up in a heartbeat, his momentum pushing his chair back to crash against the desk. His fingers were clumsy as he hurriedly closed his fly, the need for speed overwhelming the fear of catching any of his sensitive bits in the zipper. He wiped his hands on his pants though they were clammy even after.

“Well, that was very nice, totally stress free now. I’ll just be going,” Rodney said, shuffling backward. With every step he took toward the exit, Mitchell lost his look of amusement. Rodney finally broke and turned which turned out to be a mistake as once again he found himself with a Mitchell on his back.

“Not this time pal,” Mitchell said his voice and body tight against Rodney. His arms wrapped around Rodney’s waist, locking his hands together. “Not without a little payback for once.”

“Mitchell,” Rodney groaned as Mitchell manhandled him against the wall of the lab and pressed him roughly into the cool metal. His limbs were arranged spread eagle, and an extra squeeze on his wrists told him to stay put.

Not so gentle now that he was only looking out for himself, Mitchell yanked down on Rodney’s pants until the waistband cut into his hips as far as they would go. “Just stay the fuck still, McKay and let me do this,” Mitchell said, pushing up on Rodney’s shirt with one hand while the other brushed down lower.

Rodney freaked out for an entire five seconds before he realized that Mitchell had just shoved his own pants down and was back to rubbing into Rodney. It wasn’t so bad, his muscles strained to keep him from face planting into the wall as Mitchell thrust against the small of his back, holding onto his shoulders for balance.

He let it happen, cataloging what it felt like to be held by someone as strong as he was, filing away the differences between soft curves and hard planes of muscle. Rodney knew there was a difference between thinking about it and doing it, the difference between the theoretical and the applied. He preferred seeing the results, knowing that they worked instead of just understand that they would work.

Sex with Cameron was slippery, and hot, and Rodney found himself getting turned on again, his cock making a valiant effort but in the end just remained snug and happy against his body. Mitchell came with one last thrust against Rodney, dropping his weight and resting his forehead on Rodney’s shoulder.

“Oh, are you done already?” Rodney asked fitting in every ounce of contempt he could into every syllable, though the slight wobble probably gave him away. His face was burning, mind trying to spin the night’s events into something that would fit into a nice little compartment in his brain.

“Not by a long shot McKay,” Mitchell said, the smirk evident in his tone, backing away. The sound of clothing rustling telling Rodney that he was putting himself away, and footsteps that he had left the lab.

Turning around, Rodney felt his shirt fall back over the come, sticking to his skin. His shoulders slumped as he realized he was going to have to walk all the way to his room smelling like the next best thing to a bordello.

**

_Here’s how it ended. Kinda._

“Hey McKay!” Mitchell yelled, his voice echoing through the gate-room like the brass church bells that had tortured Rodney on the hour every hour back in Siberia. Mitchell looked up to the balcony, lifting a hand to tip back the cap on his head.

“What?” Rodney yelled back, looking down over the railing trying to ignore the interested looks that the gate tech was throwing his way. He had a feeling the conversation would have the Atlantian rumor wheel churning on overdrive.

Mitchell did “boy-next-door” just as easy as Sheppard’s “Captain Kirk” routine, and he was pulling out all the stops, for Rodney from his “aw-shucks” smile to his canted hips, “Next time you’re in the Milky Way, look me up.”

“Maybe,” Rodney said, shuffling his data pads looking for the one detailing the latest gate diagnostics. “If despite my knowledge, training, and interests I become outrageously bored and lose half my mind, I’ll head your way. Then at least we could have a conversation between equals.”

“It’s a date, McKay,” Mitchell winked cheerfully and headed off to join his waiting team for the beam up to the _Odyssey_.

**

_The first time they had sex, Rodney wasn’t impressed._

How he got stuck babysitting the drunk, he’d never know. Mitchell at least was easy to steer though, Sheppard had a habit of girly flailing, throwing his pointy elbows indiscriminately at one and all. He’d thought that SG-1 had already done all the damage they could to his ego, and body, while they were onboard the _Odyssey_ but as often happened when he tried to figure out the people around him, he was mistaken.

“Look, after that stunt you pulled today, the only reason I don’t let you wander off a pier is that you might accidentally trigger a failsafe on your way and we can’t afford the power drain right now,” Rodney muttered poking Mitchell to get him moving again after he stopped to look out a window for about the fifteenth _billion_ time. It was an ocean, get over it.

Mitchell turned back to him, all lazy smiles, loose limbs, and flyboy cockiness, “You’re all heart. Careful, someone will think you care.”

A wave of his hand sent that concern on its way, “Oh please, I’ve sufficiently terrorized my lab enough for the people around here know me better than that. I’d think the SGC did too after exiling me to Siberia.”

“Assumptions is all,” Mitchell chuckled, his body knocking into Rodney’s as he swayed over an extra long step he decided was necessary to get over a strip of black tile in the middle of the floor. “You know what they say about assumptions.”

“They make an ass out of you and mptions?” Rodney asked rolling his eyes at Mitchell. It just figured that he’d be a philosophical drunk, why couldn’t anything ever be easy? Why didn’t he just pass out over Sam’s breasts and leave Rodney out of it?

“Um,” Mitchell stopped, his brow furrowed, sucking in his bottom lip to chew it between his teeth.

If Rodney had been a fourteen year old with a crush he would have said it was adorable, but thank every false god, he was not. Instead he huffed and reached out to grab Mitchell’s sleeve and tug him back into motion, “Come on Einstein; let’s get you to bed.”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds good,” Mitchell said following slowly as Rodney led him to the transporter that would bring them out closest to the residential quarters.

Five more minutes and then Mitchell would be out of his hair, and Rodney wouldn’t make the mistake of attending any more after-hour parties until SG-1 was safely a galaxy away. Despite everything he done and accomplished, they still made him feel like a tag-along little brother. He hated it, feeling small again after he’d climbed his way up. The door to the transporter shut behind them and he turned around to key in their destination.

That was of course the moment when Mitchell decided to plaster himself over Rodney’s back and push his arms around Rodney’s hips, holding him in place.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rodney squawked, hands flying to try and break Mitchell’s freakishly strong grip. He wriggled but Mitchell must have been using the last of his concentration to keep Rodney immobile.

Mitchell braced his legs on the outside of Rodney’s, and stretched, one hand wandering up to rub over Rodney’s chest, just brushing a nipple, “I’m not assuming anymore.”

“I beg to differ!”

“Hey,” Mitchell’s soft voice sent shivers up Rodney’s spine, warm air moving across the nape of his neck as Mitchell reached down, one hand palming Rodney’s crotch and the other working down the button fly. “Just let me. C’mon, wanna. Wanna touch you.”

He was getting hard, all that heat behind him and hands wandering past erogenous zones; he’d have to be a Replicator not to. Rodney groaned as Mitchell finally got his hand in Rodney’s pants, pushing aside his briefs to wrap strong fingers around Rodney’s cock.

Rodney looked down to see Mitchell’s tan hand gliding over his red flesh. It looked just the same as when he took himself in his blunt fingers in the morning, but it felt so different. It was good, a strong hand pulling and knowing where to apply pressure, how to glide over the glands and spread the pre-come down the shaft.

He groaned, hips thrusting into Mitchell’s grip with a mind of their own. Behind him, Mitchell was rubbing against Rodney from shoulder to thigh, his breath coming out in harsh pants.

“Finally, finally,” Mitchell chanted, pulling Rodney in closer with his left arm while he sped up his right hand. His sweat dripped down on Rodney’s neck mingling with the moisture already building up.

Shivers sparked up his spine, and Rodney’s brain short-circuited as he came harder than he had in a long time. Mitchell released him and he shuffled forward for the wall. The cool metal did little to ease the heat from his forehead, but it did give him a moment to compose himself. It wasn’t every day he was on the receiving end of a hand job. Or well, any sex at all that wasn’t with his own right hand. He managed to tuck himself back in and button up.

“Listen, I don’t know what you were expecting, but I don’t do -” Rodney broke off as he turned around to find that Mitchell had slumped down the far wall into a tangle on the floor.

Rodney nudged him with his toe. Mitchell’s body only swayed heavily and loose, but there was no break in the soft snores or independent movement of any sort. Shrugging, Rodney adjusted himself and waved the door to the transporter open. One of the Marines would find him soon if one of the other party goers didn’t. Worst case scenario, Mitchell would have one hell of an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

Smiling, Rodney tucked his hands in his pockets and set off for his room. At least the night wasn’t totally a waste; he couldn’t say that SG-1 was good for nothing anymore.


End file.
